She Dances
by drown.in.flames
Summary: Drabbles. Because when every girl, even a nation, is lonely and without the one she used to twirl and spin and sway with, she dances. AusHun AmeBel FemEngland/France FemGerIta Spain/FemRomano. Being continued/expanded.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Drabbles, related only by theme. Different pairing for each, obviously. Austria/Hungary, America/Belarus, Fem!England/France, Fem!Germany/N. Italy, Fem!S. Italy/Spain I don't own anything.**

The song plays in the background and she dances. Elizaveta Héderváry, the nation of Hungary, holds up her arms as though there is someone else there and she twirls with grace. They are not together anymore, her people rebelled and the war happened and they split. Her marriage ended and she left him. _Him_.

But she spins around the ballroom with shattered windows, pretending that this was one of his fancy balls and he was dancing with her.

* * *

The room is silent but there is music in her head, **in her heart**, and she dances. Natalia Arlovskya, Belarus, wraps her frigid arms around herself and sways to the rhythm of a slow song. The Soviet Union fell, her brother doesn't love her-**she doesn't love him**, and she smiles slightly. The man had grinned at her, and she could not totally convince herself that he was just grinning in _general_ instead of specifically at _her_.

But for once in her life, her heart overpowers her mind and she turns slowly, imagining the blue-eyed nation that had cared so much about her.

* * *

She doesn't need music but she dances. Alice Kirkland, the United Kingdom but more specifically England, goes through the steps of an old routine. It is from the Elizabethan era, meant for large groups but still having partners. And hers is always the man that irritates her so. He's infuriating and insufferable and oh-so charming. She'll never admit it, but she loves him.

But denied feelings don't matter and she steps closer and then back again, her hand up as though she's touching his.

* * *

She does the steps awkwardly through her hallways, but she's dancing. Lorelei Weillschmidt, the country Germany, juggles her empty beer glasses as she tries to spin, succeeding only in making her feel more nauseous. Her drunken dance continues to the kitchen where she grabs a new bottle of her favorite substance. _'Ve~ you should dance with me, Doitsu!'_ And she would continue to drink until that voice left her thoughts.

But she complies with the request, clumsily but it counts for something, and tries to remember-**forget** the moves he'd once led her through.

* * *

She moves along with the fast-paced beat, and she's dancing. Lovina Vargas, South Italy, is not practicing for _him_, that stupid tomato bastard that she _hates_. He's a sorry asshole, and she'd never want to impress him. He's only playing with her heart, she knows it. All he wants is for her to fall for his tomato bastard-ness and then he'll just be as stupidly oblivious as always.

But she works harder and dances faster, the deepest, darkest part of her mind- **or is it her heart?**- telling her that she's learning these Latin dances to make him _notice_ her.

* * *

Because when a girl, even a _nation_, is lonely and without the man she used to twirl and spin and sway with, _she dances_, and it's almost like he's _there_.


	2. If This is Goodbye

**By sort-of-request, I'm 'continuing' this. Why? Because I feel like it. Beware, some endings will be happy and some will be bittersweet (such as this one).**

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_**Austria/Hungary- If This is Goodbye**_

'_**The song plays in the background and she dances. Elizaveta Héderváry, the nation of Hungary, holds up her arms as though there is someone else there and she twirls with grace. They are not together anymore, her people rebelled and the war happened and they split. Her marriage ended and she left him. Him.**_

_**But she spins around the ballroom with shattered windows, pretending that this was one of his fancy balls and he was dancing with her.'**_

Hungary spun herself across the stained white dance floor, delicately stepping over the broken glass. Her eyes remained closed as she pictured the glory that the ballroom once was, the faintest memory of soft music reaching her ears. The ring, a simple golden band, kept it's residence on her finger– she couldn't bring herself to take it off. She knew he didn't wear his anymore. Gillian would throw a fit...

Wilted flowers sat in tarnished vases on top of weakened tables. The fallen petals dusted the dance floor, creating a sense of old beauty that Elizaveta missed dearly. She remembered brightly colored roses, tulips, edelweiss... She remembered when the grand piano practically sparkled, and when the man who used to sit there would play the prettiest tunes from dawn til dusk.

Her graceful motions ended abruptly as her foot caught onto a cloth and she tripped, slamming her knees into the cold floor. Elizaveta opened her eyes and made to stand up, but the faded colors of the fallen flag made her sit down slowly and cradle the fabric in her arms while tears cascaded down her face.

"Hungary... what are you doing here?"

Hungary looked up to see _him_ standing there. He looked... emotionless, with a hint of surprise that was barely visible in his violet eyes. But she was accustomed to reading his emotions, she could spot a change in him before even he noticed it.

"N-Nothing-" Hungary cringed at the crack in her voice. "I was just- it's been a long time. I wanted to see what happened to this place."

"Ah, yes... I must admit that I have let this place go. It's a shame, really, but I..." Austria sighed. "The beauty that this place once held has diminished. It is no longer-"

"I know, Austria. I understand."

Roderich did not let the shock show on his face, but the cold tone she was using was not something he was accustomed to having directed towards him. He looked around the room quickly before he caught sight of the flag she was clinging to.

"I thought my government got rid of those..." he murmured, a sadness in his voice that made her stifle a cry.

"Obviously they missed one," she snapped.

"I do not know what is wrong with you right now, Hungary, but-"

"Nothing, okay? Nothing is wrong with me! Why don't you go back to Prussia and _leave me alone_."

Austria was taken aback. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and took a step towards Hungary, but she just turned so that her back was facing him. By the shaking of her shoulders and the sounds muffled by the torn fabric, Roderich knew that she was crying.

"I did not mean to upset you."

"Just go away."

"Do not hate Gillian just because-"

"I've _always_ hated her! You _know_ that! Nothing's changed in my feelings for her, it's what I feel for _you_ that's different!"

His expression softened.

"Eliza-"

"_Don't_ call me that, _Austria_."

He ignored her.

"Eliza, I do not wish to hurt you. I am sorry that our relationship did not work out, but how could it? It was a political marriage, you know that. What I felt for you, it was just friendship. Purely platonic. I apologize if I led you on."

He was lying through his teeth and he knew it, but she didn't.

"I told you to _leave me the hell alone_. Go."

"I cannot leave a woman to cry. It is not proper."

"I don't care! Go! Go back to Prussia and tell her all about poor little Hungary! I don't care what you do, just leave!"

Roderich approached her silently. He bowed and held out his hand. She looked up, unsure. His eyes pleaded with her until she took it and stood. He placed his other hand on her waist as she gathered her skirt and held it up. She was afraid, he could tell.

"I am sorry, Eliza," he whispered, before he began twirling her around the room.

She couldn't believe what was happening. Just a while ago she'd been doing the same steps, only then she was alone and now... now he was here. With her.

The dance came to an end all to quickly, and he stared intently into her green eyes. Without warning, he placed the lightest of kisses on her forehead and slipped something from his coat pocket into her hand.

He left then, not looking back, but the tear that slid down his cheek ruined the effect. She opened her palm slowly.

In her hand, cold and abandoned, lay his wedding ring attached to the chain that he once wore around his neck.

Broken promises filled the air, forgotten _'I love you'_s and unfulfilled _'forever'_s drifting into her ears while she held the saddest words she'd ever heard close to her heart. _'I do'_.

**(A/N: Well, I'm crying now. You? I have FrUK, AmeBel and GerIta already written, I just haveta get around to Spamano. Review and I'll post the next, kay?)**


	3. Schoolgirl Fantasies

**This one is going to be considerably shorter than the last one, which was short to begin with. And this one's happier. Isn't that nice? :)**

* * *

_**America/Belarus- Schoolgirl Fantasies**_

_**'The room is silent but there is music in her head, in her heart, and she dances. Natalia Arlovskya, Belarus, wraps her frigid arms around herself and sways to the rhythm of a slow song. The Soviet Union fell, her brother doesn't love her-she doesn't love him, and she smiles slightly. The man had grinned at her, and she could not totally convince herself that he was just grinning in general instead of specifically at her. **_

_**But for once in her life, her heart overpowers her mind and she turns slowly, imagining the blue-eyed nation that had cared so much about her.'**_

Natalia ignored her sister's questions and her brother's confusion. She pretended not to hear them talking about her just outside her door. She just kept swaying and giggling silently, acting like a little school girl whose crush told her she was pretty. If she was human, in school, and a few years younger, then that would be _exactly_ what happened. Alfred told her she was beautiful. And he meant it.

She imagined that she was in a pretty dress, with her hair all done up and her makeup flawless. She imagined that he had his arms wrapped around her and one of his trademark grins on his face. She imagined that he looked handsome and every girl in the world wanted him, but the only one he wanted was her. She imagined that he leaned in, slowly because he wanted her to give him the okay. She imagined that his lips tasted like hamburgers and coffee and something oh so _Alfred_.

She was too caught up in her imagining to notice when someone stepped in front of her and moved her hands so that they were on his shoulders and placed his own hands on her hips. She only noticed when that someone kissed her nose and laughed quietly. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at the intruder before she registered that it was _America_.

"What are you doing in my house, Амерыка?"

"I'm dancing with a beautiful girl," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"My sister is not in here-"

"I wasn't talking about her. Can't ya see that you're beautiful?" he drawled, his small Southern accent sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

"I am not. Do not say such ridiculous things."

Alfred leaned down and looked her in the eyes, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly.

"I'm telling the truth. I swear."

"That still does not explain why you are here. In Russia."

"Your sister called me. She said you were acting strange."

"Why would sister call _you_?"

Alfred shrugged.

"I don't know. But I came to make sure you were alright."

"You flew all the way to _Russia_ to check on me?"

"I took Air Force One! The Prez said it was okay."

"Brother let you inside his house?"

"Of course! He's worried about ya, too."

Normally, Natalia would've immediately run to her brother's room and demanded that they get married. But, strangely, she didn't want to. She was too busy getting lost in the American sky that was reflected in Alfred's eyes.

"Nat?"

"That is not my name."

"But it's so cute!"

"My name is Natalia. But for you, it's Belarus."

"But _Nattie_," Alfred whined.

"Do not ever call me that."

The American huffed, but then his grin returned. Only this time, it looked like he was plotting something.

"What?"

Alfred's smile turned into a smirk for a split second before he crashed his lips to hers and wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. Her eyes slowly shut and her arms slid around his neck as she kissed back hesitantly.

When they pulled away for air, a blush was covering both of their faces.

"Nat?" Alfred cut through the silence.

She rolled her eyes at the nickname. "What?"

"You know I'm a hero, right?"

"Sure, America. Whatever."

"Will you be my heroine?"

She was shocked, to say the least. Coming from America, she knew this was almost as good as an 'I love you'.

"I-um- yes. Yes. I will," she whispered.

Alfred beamed at her, scooping her up into his arms bridal style and dashing out of her room. He ran them throughout Russia's house, announcing to the world (well, to the air) that the most beautiful girl in the world was _his_.

Belarus just glared at his neck, mumbling about having told him not to call her 'Nattie'.


	4. Darling, I Love You

_**A/N: Alright, FrUK this time~ This one was considerably harder to write, I really don't know why. Probably because I didn't really know where I wanted to go with it. Originally I wanted angst so that the AusHun one wouldn't stick out, but I just couldn't make this turn out like that one. Whoops. :P**_

_**

* * *

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_**France/Fem!England- Darling, I Love You**_

_**'She doesn't need music but she dances. Alice Kirkland, the United Kingdom but more specifically England, goes through the steps of an old routine. It is from the Elizabethan era, meant for large groups but still having partners. And hers is always the man that irritates her so. He's infuriating and insufferable and oh-so charming. She'll never admit it, but she loves him.**_

_**But denied feelings don't matter and she steps closer and then back again, her hand up as though she's touching his.'**_

She remembered all the kisses he'd stolen over the thousands of years they'd been alive, all the times he'd snuck up behind her and played with her hair. Her hand still tingled with all the light pecks he'd left there, her waist was still on fire from his touch. She remembered when they were close, before their relationship had twisted into arguments and... hatred. But she could never hate him, she only hated herself for falling for him.

She still had the last rose he'd given her before he'd started flirting and giving them to _everyone_. She still could see his tortured expression in her mind from when she'd... she'd... Alice couldn't even bring herself to think it.

All of the awful things she had done, they were all because he didn't, _couldn't_, love her. She missed sitting beside him in a grassy field for hours, a comfortable silence setting in. _Then_ she had believed he felt something for her. But then things changed. _She _came along after their relationship was already broken, but _she_ hadn't helped to mend it. Maybe Alice had acted out of jealousy‒ craving the adoring looks he gave that- that _human_. Looks he'd never give her.

_'Bonjour, ma __chérie~'_ He was such a damn flirt. Always coming on to anything that moved. Lord knows how many people he'd had in his bed. It would probably be quicker to count those who he _hadn't_.

"Thinking about me, _Angleterre_?"

She glared at him, her bushy eyebrows furrowing. Anyone else would've run for their lives, but he wasn't just _anybody_.

"No, you bloody frog. What do you want?" she spat at him.

"Can't I just visit you, _ma chérie_?"

"No. You can't."

He stepped in front of her and placed a (_filthy_) hand on her hip and one on her lower back, pulling her closer to him. She fought to stay away, but he was bigger and stronger than she was.

"Get the hell off me, frog!"

"_Non_. I like this position."

He pressed her against himself, much to her aggravation, and began lowering his hand...

"You goddamn pervert!"

She slapped him, hard, but he didn't let go of her.

"That hurts, _ma cher_. Kiss it better?"

"_No_."

France paid her no mind, leaning in and stealing a kiss for himself. He pulled away and jumped back before she could slap him again. Her face was red with rage (and possibly something else‒ was it just her or was it getting hotter?).

"Go sleep with some whore and leave me alone, frog," Alice huffed.

"_Mais_ I don't want some common whore, _chérie_. _Je te veux_."

England, having learned French after getting sick of the endless frustration of never know what he said, shivered involuntarily. Francis approached her again, wrapping his arms around her slender waist from behind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hot breath making her stifle a small moan.

"G-get off-"

"You know that's not what you want, _Angleterre_."

"How would you-"

"I know you, _chérie_. You think that, after thousands of years, anyone could know you better than I?"

"You're so-"

"_Shh..._"

He placed a tender kiss on her collarbone, and then one on the top of her head. He let go and stepped back, holding out a single rose. She turned around and glared, but his expression stayed somber.

"_Je t'aime_, Alice."

She took the rose questioningly, opening her mouth to retort. But he was gone before she could, smiling in a way that made her know that he had meant it.

"I love you too, you bloody frog."


	5. Italian Reality

**A/U: I'm not good at titles! :O Sorry, I've had this done for a while but I thought it was already up. Also, I still have to write the Spamano one... I'll do that ASAP! And I'm considering introducing my OC stories to y'all in general, starting with their version of the "She Dances" idea. I don't know. If you're seriously opposed, you can tell me :P They're the nations' offspring, so be warned...**

* * *

_**North Italy/Fem!Germany- Italian Reality**_

_**'She does the steps awkwardly through her hallways, but she's dancing. Lorelei Weillschmidt, the country Germany, juggles her empty beer glasses as she tries to spin, succeeding only in making her feel more nauseous. Her drunken dance continues to the kitchen where she grabs a new bottle of her favorite substance. '**_**Ve~ you should dance with me, Doitsu!**_**' And she would continue to drink until that voice left her thoughts.**_

_**But she complies with the request, clumsily but it counts for something, and tries to remember-**__forget__**- the moves he'd once led her through.'**_

Lorelei ran face first into the wall, but that didn't stop her. She thought idly of the picture her nose had come into contact with— one of a girlier version of herself that _he_ had painted sometime during World War 1. He'd given it to her with a clueless grin on his face and buried her face in his chest as he enveloped her in a crushing embrace. She'd stuttered incoherently until he let her go, her pale face turning a bright red.

_'Ve~ you look red, Doitsu! Just like Lovi when Antonio calls her his tomato!'_

Germany shook away the voice that had entered her thoughts, sitting back down on her living room couch to gulp down her beer.

_'You should stop drinking so much, Doitsu! Ve~ what if you get sick?'_

He was so **annoying**. No matter what she did, he somehow always managed to get in the way, even when he wasn't there! Him and his stupid curl, his idiotic smile... his shining amber eyes... To her, he seemed so carefree‒ so alive‒ despite anything else that was going on. In the middle of a battle, he'd still be laughing and rambling enthusiastically about pasta. But then he'd get hurt and start **sobbing** until she managed to get to him and bandage him up (and she'd never admit it, but she got **scared** every time because she could never tell if it was something serious or not).

She'd never tell a soul, but during World War 2, she had crippling nightmares. Looking back, she didn't know what would've happened if Feliciano hadn't already been in bed beside her. He managed to throw his oblivious idiocy out of the metaphorical door and calm her down, holding her close while she cried. She told him about all of the horrible things she was forced to do, all of the atrocities that Germany committed, all the horrors she'd been forced to see. She told about the faces she'd seen, the Jews and the gypsies and everyone else, that looked at her sadly (asking '_Why?'_) before they were sent off to die in concentration camps. And, worst of all, she told him about Poland. About the little blonde girl that she'd invaded. About how she'd watched that girl get beaten half to death by Russia, and how she'd helped. She told him all of her regrets and all of her deepest fears and he listened. He kissed her forehead and smoothed out her hair, whispering Italian lullabies until she fell back to sleep.

Despite her intoxicated state, she was able to think quite clearly due to the enhanced healing that being a nation brought. And she was still able to hear when someone walked up behind her, although she missed the door opening.

"Ve! Are you drinking again, Doitsu?"

She closed her eyes and prayed that it was all a dream, but the arms that wrapped around her waist were all too real.

"Italy, what are you doing here?" she winced at the slight slur in her voice.

"I'm here to visit Germany~!"

Lorelei rolled her eyes.

"You're going to make yourself sick, Doitsu!"

"No, I will not."

"Ve~ but I'm worried about you!"  
"Thank you for your concern, Italy, but-"

"Why won't you call me Feli?"

Tears welled up in the Italian's eyes as he looked pleadingly at the German nation. She sighed.

"I am sorry, Feli. But I am fine, I promise."

"Ve~ you're lying~"

His uncanny ability to see right through her was increasingly strange, and always managed to catch her off guard.

"Do you need a hug, Germany?"

"Why don't you call me Lorelei?" She quickly clasped a hand over her mouth, appalled at the words that had come out of it.

"Do you want me to? Ve~ okay~"

"No! Nein, I-"

"Lorelei, Lorelei, Lorelei~" Italy sang, hugging her tightly.

The blush on her face somehow deepened as he picked her up (since when did he get strong?) and carried her to her room. He placed her on the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, grinning.

"You should get some rest~"

"I'm fine-"

"Ve~ but you need to sleep~"

Before she could say another word, Feliciano had stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed beside her. He snuggled up to the embarrassed German, cradling her to his chest.

"Ve~ ti amo, Lorelei~"

And he was asleep before she could respond.

"Ich liebe dich, Feliciano..."


End file.
